


Dirty-Twirl

by melofttroll



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone lives, Fluff, Hook ups to lovers, Humor, M/M, Mistaken Identity, No Hale Fire, One Night Stands, eventual Sterek happy ending, hook ups, slight angst, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melofttroll/pseuds/melofttroll
Summary: The Jungle, a place to get funky, for Stiles to get his dirty-twirl on, is basically a dive-bar Sunday to Wednesday.  Which means that his little plan to find some smokin’ hot strange might be slightly…derailed.Then a smoking hot werewolf mistakes Stiles for someone else, and he thinks what the hell, what can a quick hook-up hurt?  He's definitely not worried about his heart...though maybe he should be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I used to write for Teen Wolf back in its prime, then college decided I couldn't do anything except that, and I've been stuck in writer's block for like 4 years. But things got better, and here I am, getting my feet wet again with my old fandom.
> 
> This is based on the New Girl Episodes where Jess and Dr. Sam hook up when he mistakes her for his tindr date, and then they keep hooking up. You don't have to watch New Girl for this to make sense, but those who do will catch my quotes and references.
> 
> There will be three chapters, and does have a much happier ending than Jess and Dr. Sam.
> 
> Also there's a lot of sex.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything Teen Wolf or New Girl, I'm just borrowing for fun.

“That’s it.” His voice rings out just above the slamming noise the door makes as it crashes into the wall, making the slight crack just a little wider. Three sets of eyes look up at him, ranging from mild curiosity to open hostility. Stiles folds his arms over his chest petulantly, pouting out his bottom lip in a bid for sympathy which no one makes. After a moment he sighs and flings his hands dramatically into the air. “I give up. I give up, my life is garbage, and I’m going off the grid.” He digs into his pocket for his phone and flings it across the room. In reality, he means to hit one of the couch cushions, but misses by at least ten feet and his phone clatters into the side table, then onto the floor. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Lydia, whose emery board is poised above one perfectly manicured, yet unpolished nail, lifts a brow at him managing to look elegant and dangerous at the same time. “Your life is only garbage because you keep making it garbage.”

Stiles clenches his jaw. “Oh really?” He holds up his hand and begins to tick off reasons on his fingers. “So failing entrance exam, getting fired, getting _dumped_ , my Jeep breaking down, my dad not speaking to me, the shopping cart wheel falling off and tipping all my groceries onto the street, that old lady laughing about it…” He’s quickly running out of fingers.

Allison huffs as she pulls cotton out from between her red-painted toes. “You failed the exam because you and Scott got drunk in the woods the night before… _and_ they told you that you can retake it last week. You got fired because you’ve missed like nine shifts this month, and you hate that job anyway,” she says.

“Stop trying to be reasonable! Scott,” he whines.

Scott fastidiously ignores him as he continues painting Lydia’s toenails a slate-grey color. 

“Your Jeep broke down because you weren’t supposed to drive it off-road and you did,” Lydia points out. “So you have only yourself to blame. And your dad’s paying for it which is why he’s not speaking to you.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose in a scowl.

“Malia dumping you was not your fault though,” Allison concedes. “In fact, if I see her next week at the shop…”

“Don’t,” Stiles says tiredly. “That was my fault too. I’m the worst boyfriend possibly ever.”

All three of the people sitting at the counter make a sympathetic face.

“The shopping cart was pretty hilarious though. The old lady wasn’t the only person laughing,” Scott adds, finally putting in his two cents.

Stiles whines and flings himself face-first onto the couch which smells…not great. They really should fork out the cash to have it steam cleaned. “The point is, everything is pain and I’m taking a vacation from it.”

“So you’re what?” Lydia challenges.

Stiles pokes his head up off the couch and peers over the edge to see if he can assess the damage done to his phone. “Anonymous sex.”

“Oh my god, I’m calling your dad,” Lydia threatens.

“Do it. He won’t care. He’ll just tell me to get chlamydia and die,” Stiles shoots at her.

“Jesus Christ,” Allison breathes.

Stiles scrambles up and peers at them. “Do you think Isaac will help me hook up tonight? He’s working the bar, right? He probably knows the regulars. The desperate ones. Doesn’t he?” He gives his best puppy eyes, and eventually Scott sighs.

“Maybe we can put in a good word for you.”

Lydia scowls at him. “We talked about this, Scott. About not encouraging him when he’s like this.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Stiles demands, and flops back down, wriggling around between the cushions until he finds the remote. He turns the TV on with the sound off, and puts on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives so his mutinous friends have to suffer through Guy Fieri’s hair and Hawaiian shirts as punishment. “Scott, you’re the only one I have ever loved.”

“I love you too,” Scott says, sounding entirely too happy. “Meet us there at eight, okay?”

“Done!” Stiles says without turning around, throwing a thumbs up in the air.

A moment later, a sharp, mostly empty nail-polish bottle clips him on the side of the head. 

“Mutiny,” he growls, but doesn’t turn back around.

~*~ 

Stiles arrives at The Jungle promptly at eight-seventeen. The normal weekend line nothing more than dirty, gum-covered concrete, and the door’s half propped open because on a Tuesday night, there’s definitely no cover. The Jungle, a place to get funky, for Stiles to get his dirty-twirl on, is basically a dive-bar Sunday to Wednesday. Which means that his little plan to find some smokin’ hot strange might be slightly…derailed. All the same, Isaac is working the bar, and his sweet little doe-eyes and baby-curls tend to attract randos which means if Isaac is paying some kind of attention instead of flirting with Scott or Allison, or both, then Stiles might have a chance.

Everything just feels the worst and damn it, he just wants someone to lick him all over for a few minutes, and maybe come on his back. Nothing too kinky, you know? Just a little frisky to get his mind off of how everything is not going at all like he planned.

He drags his hands up to his hair to assess that his product is still holding everything in place, then he wanders in. He sees Boyd hauling a keg through the back door and offers him a nod, then slides up to the bar where Isaac is pushing a weird, almost neon-orange looking monstrosity at Scott.

“X-man maker?” Stiles asks.

“Okay seriously, this is why you can’t get laid. That level of nerd shit makes people think you run an MRA reddit thread in your parent’s basement, dude.” The helpful tip comes from Liam—the little shit who has been tailing after Scott for the last three years—finally old enough to drink now, but still hasn’t outgrown the annoyance factor.

Stiles just flips him off and turns back to Isaac. “Gin and tonic with extra lime. And can you use that fancy crunchy ice. Pretty please?”

Isaac sighs and looks contrary until Stiles reaches into his pocket and pulls out the last of his tips he was able to snag before The Mean Bean unceremoniously canned his ass. It’s mostly ones, but it’s enough for Isaac to concede and reach for the cooler they’re only supposed to open when they’re serving shit from the Top Shelf.

“So, did everyone fill you in on my needs?” Stiles asks as he grabs up the drink Isaac slides over to him. He tips the lime off the side of the glass and mashes it down with the straw before tipping the glass into his mouth. It attacks him in a shower of ice, gin, and sticky tonic.

Everyone stares as he splutters, and when he’s slightly composed, Isaac leans over the counter. “Yeah. Who wouldn’t want all that?”

Stiles flips him off. “I’m sure you can find someone. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Laundry day for two weeks,” Isaac says.

Stiles splutters. If he hates any chore more than taking out the trash, it’s laundry. He whines and lays his head on the bar, and still, Isaac doesn’t relent. Finally he sits up. “It had better be someone really good. Like he’d better suck my brains out through my dick, Isaac.”

“That would only be an improvement,” Isaac says thoughtfully.

“I’ll be over there,” Stiles points to an empty booth, “wallowing in my orgasmless void.”

No one tries to stop him, which only makes him pout harder, but it’s to no avail. They’re immediately wrapped back up in the conversation that was started before he got there, and Stiles is alone with what’s left of his gin.

This is doing nothing for his abandonment issues.

I mean, not that he really has them, but considering he’s been chucked by his dad, his now ex-girlfriend, his job, and the FBI well…he’s on his way.

All of that is what circulates in his mind as he occupies the little booth off to the side of the bar. It leaves Stiles alone with his thoughts, which he was fairly sure they, as a group, decided that was a terrible idea. In fact, he’s just about to stand up and remind them of that fact, loudly—because damn it life is garbage and he doesn’t want to be alone right now—when a shadow blots out what little of the hazy light in the bar illuminates his table.

Stiles blinks up at the figure, and takes in broad shoulders encased by a leather jacket which is almost straining at the seams. The broad shoulders lead to a thick neck, then to a jaw covered by a thick dusting of newly-grown beard. That leads up to incredibly round cheeks, and eyes which are some sort of kaleidoscope of color, framed by dark, well-shaped brows. 

Basically the guy is too pretty to live and Stiles is pretty sure he’s about to choke on his own tongue.

Then he speaks, in a startlingly soft rumble which sounds almost shy. “Uh. Hi. Sam, right?”

Stiles opens his mouth through crushing disappointment to inform this Adonis that no, he’s not Sam. But what comes out instead is, “Uh yeah. Hi.”

The guy deflates in utter relief, shoulders sagging, and a tiny smile turning up the corners of his mouth to reveal the world’s most adorable bunny teeth. Can you die of attractive overload? Stiles is about to be the first case study. “Sorry, I…it’s been almost a half hour and I thought maybe you weren’t going to show or…”

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles says, and he shifts over to let the stranger take a seat. He glances over at his friends—Isaac looking amused, Lydia looking annoyed, and Scott looking almost horrified, and he tries to give them secret signals with his eyebrows that say, _This is the hottest human that’s ever willingly talked to me, don’t fuck this up, and also my name is Sam._ Unfortunately he’s pretty sure he only manages to look incredibly constipated, if he’s going by the way they look.

The guy glances to where Stiles is staring, and huffs a laugh. “Protective friends?”

“More like a bunch of morons who are never any help ever at all,” Stiles grouses, and then promptly gets lost in the waves of color in the man’s eyes. “Anyway, sorry for uh…you know…”

“It’s fine,” the guy says. “You had said it had been a long day.”

“Long day, long week. Like…some sort of eternal damnation sort of bullshit going on,” Stiles admits.

“I think you might need another drink, then,” the guy says, and he leans into Stiles’ space. “I have to hit the head for a second, then I can grab it.”

“No!” Stiles says, almost panicking. “I mean uh…I’m…I live with the bartender. He’s my roommate,” he clarifies when the guy’s face goes a little dark. “I can get a nice discount.”

The guy eventually relents and nods. “Okay. Grab me a refill. I was drinking the shitty lager they have on tap.”

Stiles can’t help his small laugh. “Yeah. Got it.”

“Just tell him to put it on my tab.” The guy drags himself out of the booth, and walks back toward the bathrooms.

Stiles blinks, then slaps himself out of his daze because this isn’t exactly going to work out if he doesn’t warn his friends. Or maybe get this guy’s name. He scrambles up and practically throws himself at the bar. “If anyone asks, my name is Sam, and you’re my roommate, and that man is exactly the person I was totally late here to meet.”

Isaac raises a brow, then turns back to the register and plucks a black AMEX card from where he keeps the cards for open tabs. “Oh really.”

“Three weeks,” Stiles gasps. “Three weeks.”

“Four,” Isaac says. “And dishes for two.”

Stiles groans, but he has a feeling if he gives in, it will mean getting dicked down harder and better than he initially planned and damn it, orgasms are worth it! “Fine,” he says. “Also, what’s his name?”

Isaac flashes him the front of the card, and Stiles reads the bright gold embossment.

“Derek Hale,” he says aloud.

Scott takes that moment to spew a mouthful of beer all across the bar top, making Isaac look sour, but also weirdly fond. “Derek Hale,” he hisses, swiping at his mouth. “Dude, do you know who that is?!”

“Obviously not,” Stiles says with a huff. “Hence the whole asking for his name thing. Oh and another gin and tonic with the ice I like. And whatever Derek was drinking. On his tab.”

“You’re lucky he tips well, asshole,” Isaac says as he turns to start the drink.

Stiles then turns to Scott. “Do you know him?”

Scott’s sullen. “No but…I’ve heard things. Okay? Werewolf things.”

It sounds vaguely familiar, but frankly that’s only more inciting because Stiles is decidedly _not_ a speciest and Derek Hale is obnoxiously attractive, and knowing he’s strong enough to like…pin Stiles to the wall and fuck him stupid? Yeah, he’s completely okay with that. 

Isaac brings the drinks over just as Derek walks out of the bathroom, and Stiles seizes them in his hands quickly so Derek can’t come over and meet his idiot friends. Yet. He practically flings himself at the booth, only spilling a little, and grins as he hands Derek’s beer over.

“So Derek Hale…” Stiles says, and leans back against the booth cushion, “tell me, is this night going as well as you’d hoped.”

“No,” Derek says mildly, then takes a sip of his beer. Before Stiles’ heart can fall through his stomach and onto the floor, he finishes by leaning in and saying very low, “It’s going much, much better.”

~*~ 

And well, it is for Stiles too. Because somehow he ends up being pinned to the door of a ridiculously expensive-looking, industrial-nouveau style loft—if that’s even a thing. Not that he’s got the chance to look around since Derek is currently tearing at his clothes—fingers human and blunt, but the strength in his arms is definitely something _other_.

Stiles actually likes his shirt though, so he pushes Derek back gently and whips the offending article of clothing across the room. He grins when Derek huffs a laugh, and his fingers move for his jeans, but Derek’s faster. He brushes Stiles’ hands aside, and before Stiles can say or do anything at all to help, his jeans and boxers are around his ankles. Stiles pushes back against the door and locks his knees, otherwise he’s going to collapse because Derek buries his face in the thatch of coarse hair right up along the side of Stiles’ dick which is harder than steel, and he breathes in like it’s made of literal oxygen.

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans, his head falling back to smack against the door. Hard. He winces, but then Derek licks a long stripe along his boiling hot dick and all other words leave him.

“I want to taste you, Sam” Derek’s saying, moving to kiss and nip at the insides of Stiles’ thighs, not marking him. Not yet, though there’s a decent bit of beard-burn going. “I want you to come down my throat. I’m…” Derek looks up then, with hesitation in his eyes and it’s so sweet that for a second Stiles forgets he’s mostly naked and that his hard cock is currently painting a thin line of pre-come on Derek’s upper cheek where it keeps accidentally hitting him. “I’m a werewolf. You know that, right?”

“Yeah I…figured that out,” Stiles says.

Derek licks his lips. “I can’t get anything, and we can use condoms for the messier stuff, but right now I really want you in my mouth. Is that…can I…”

“God, fuck. Yes,” Stiles all-but begs, and maybe it’s the whine in his tone, but Derek’s eyes flash blue, and then his mouth is open—all blunt, human teeth thank god—and he swallows Stiles down.

It’s over embarrassingly quick. Derek does this sucking, tongue thing right at the head, right where he’s most sensitive, and his hand comes up and brushes past his balls, pressing lightly against his perineum and it’s basically over. Stiles is coming, and Derek is groaning and kind of rutting against air like it’s _him_ having his dick sucked into oblivion and it’s just…yeah. It’s so much.

When Stiles is sucked dry and just shy of over-stimulated, Derek rises and helps Stiles kick his jeans and boxers away, then bodily hauls him up by the ass and kisses him filthy and deep as he makes his way into the loft. There’s a literal bed in the middle of it, like…what kind of hipster fucking nonsense—but it’s super convenient also and Stiles doesn’t have it in him to complain. Derek’s mouth tastes like beer and spunk and somehow it’s the best taste in the world.

Stiles isn’t entirely sure what this is supposed to be—a hook-up probably, since Derek didn’t know what Stiles looked like—or well, Sam, anyway. Stiles isn’t entirely sure that hook-ups are supposed to be this good either. But he’s not really going to probe further, not when Derek is shimmying out of his own clothes, kissing in in between. Not when he’s going up on his elbow over Stiles’ stomach and jerking himself.

“I want to come on you. Want you to smell like me. Please…can I… Sam…”

Stiles feels a twist in his chest, because he wants to hear his own name out of Derek’s mouth. But he also wants Derek to come on him, and then maybe get hard again a little later and fuck him, so he says nothing except, “Yeah. Fuck. Come on me.”

Derek does. He licks his palm and curls his thumb and first finger around his dick, gently stroking himself with the help of his foreskin. It’s a wet sound, giving new meaning to the term fap, and it’s the most erotic thing ever when Derek’s eyes flash blue again, and then he dribbles hot spurges of come all over the faint hair on Stiles’ stomach.

When Derek’s spent, which is far longer than a human lasts, he collapses onto his side with a heavy breath, and lets his arms flop up over his head. “You can use my shirt to clean up,” he says, “but don’t wash it all the way off. I like the way it smells on you.”

Stiles should probably think that’s kind of nasty, but he was also looking for a little nasty that night, so he just obeys and uses Derek’s too-tight t-shirt to wipe off the worst of it. Then he tosses it off to the side and lays back down, and turns to look at Derek.

Even with the first part of sex out of the way, Derek’s still unbelievably gorgeous. There’s a softness to his eyes and mouth which Stiles wants to just stare at all night—possibly while getting pounded into the mattress. He also finds he kind of wants to wake up to that in the morning which…no. That’s a bad, bad train of thought. 

Derek reaches over and he traces his finger along Stiles’ collarbone, down his chest, and it takes him a minute to realize he’s making patterns out of his moles. “Yeah. Gift from my mother’s side. I won’t pretend like it wasn’t hell in the middle school locker room.”

Derek snorts. “Middle school kids are demons. I mean this literally, having actually met a few demons.”

Stiles can’t help a grin. “That might be one of the coolest things anyone has ever said to me.”

Derek laughs, then tugs Stiles in for a kiss. It’s chaste and sweet and _absolutely means nothing_. “So. What’s a guy like you doing on Grindr?”

Stiles almost rolls his eyes because wow, that figures. Also makes sense why Derek didn’t know Sam’s face. It was probably all ab-shots and dick-pics. “Let’s just say that getting dumped and fired and pissing off my one and only surviving parent left me needing a little…release.”

Derek hums a sad little noise. “Shit. I didn’t know it was that bad. So uh…you got fired from the gym?”

Oh my god, was Sam like a personal trainer or some shit. Jesus Christ, there’s no way Derek’s going to believe that if he sees Stiles’ pathetic attempts at biceps in the cold light of morning. “No,” he says slowly. “I had a job working for some assholes…and customer service. And my so-called friend seemed to think I was self-sabotaging by not showing up for nine shifts this month or some bullshit.”

“Clearly bullshit,” Derek says with fond amusement.

“Can you not take her side. She’s already right too many times and it’s starting to affect my fragile ego,” Stiles says with a small pout.

Derek kisses him on the corner of his mouth, then drops his hand to play with the slightly tacky hair on his belly. “So you just teach Zumba and yoga now?”

Stiles almost chokes on his own tongue. “Well I’m trying to also do this other career thing,” he says, evading because he’s pretty sure that rumor that werewolves can hear lies is true, but growing up the Sheriff’s kid, he’s an expert at evasion. “Which also didn’t go well this week so…yeah.”

Derek huffs and bends in to kiss his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t exactly feel bad right now.”

Derek laughs into his skin. “Yeah. This has been…unexpected.”

“Right?” Stiles says, a little too excitedly, and has the decency to look a little contrite when Derek pulls back and raises a brow. “I just mean…well okay, I might not be the expert at hook-ups, but this was…better?” He phrases it as a question without meaning to, and lets a little insecurity creep in though he’s trying to hold it back.

Instead of being annoyed, Derek just brings his hand to Stiles’ cheek and rubs his thumb over the few moles there. “Definitely. It’s definitely been better.” Then he leans in and the kiss this time is filthier, and getting little Stiles interested again.

~*~ 

Stiles is leaving after this round. He’s definitely leaving. He got dicked down hard, just like he wanted—came so intensely he screamed into the pillow and possibly even pulled an abdominal muscle. Now he’s just taking a breather, drinking the water Derek gave him, and letting his heart rate calm down before he gets up and ends this so he has fond memories instead of pissed off ones when Derek inevitably finds out he lied. Like super lied.

“You should stay,” Derek says, dragging the tips of his fingers over Stiles’ exposed thigh. “It’s late and I want to fuck you in the shower in the morning.”

Stiles lets his head fall back against the hard, stone wall and groans because yeah. Fuck. He really wants that. Instead he says, “I really can’t. I have…obligations.” Also not a lie. He needs to study for the retake exam and go to his father’s office tomorrow to grovel.

Derek sighs, but instead of pushing the issue, he just leans over the side of the bed and digs around until he pops back up with a phone in his hand. “Here, give me your number. I deleted Grindr off my phone right before I got to the bar, and I thought I could uh…text you?” He sounds adorably unsure. “In case the both of us aren’t busy sometime?”

Stiles wants to tell him no. Should tell him no because well…Derek is a werewolf and he’s actually a nice guy, and Stiles lied to him. But he just saves his number under S, with an upside down smiley, and Derek reads it and rolls his eyes, then pins Stiles to the bed to kiss him long and slow.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Derek murmurs against his mouth. “You never know what kind of creepy crawlies are lurking in the shadows this late.”

Stiles is fairly sure he’s going to combust from everything that is Derek. He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. Then he says yes, and he lets Derek drive him home in his absurdly fancy camaro. He gets rewarded with a handjob in the parking space behind the building before he says goodnight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case it isn't incredibly obvious, I don't actually know anything about how FBI interns work, and my Master's is in anthropology of religion, not criminology so....yeah. Just take everything about this fic with a huge tablespoon of salt.
> 
> I don't actually have a problem with Malia, or any woman on Teen Wolf. She's not really going to be a huge bitch and there's definitely not going to be any active hate regarding her character. Stiles is just a disgruntled Ex. He'll get over it.
> 
> As before, some lines and the plot have been borrowed from New Girl, which I do not own, to use in the Teen Wolf universe, which I also do not own. :D

Stiles tries to pretend like he’s not incredibly disappointed by the fact that his phone has been silent all week. But it’s Friday and the Jungle is back to being appropriately packed with enough people that Stiles feels like he can be a little picky. And honestly, he’s feeling better. He passed the entrance exam, though he won’t hear for about eight weeks whether or not he’s a selected candidate, but he managed to get a job at the little bookstore across the street from The Mean Bean, which means he can glare at them all day long to show his ire for his totally unwarranted firing.

He’s still stuck doing all of Isaac’s stupid chores but every time he starts to feel bitter about it, he closes his eyes and feels Derek’s mouth around his cock and it reminds him that it was totally fucking worth it.

Boyd’s working the door tonight, so he lets Stiles in with a wave, and the music is already pumping, and Isaac is behind the bar with Allison—dressed in tight clothes and a lot of glitter and wide smiles. Stiles sees the foggy, ancient plastic beer pitcher which is filled to the brim with ones which means they’re both going to be in agreeable moods. That only bodes well for Stiles as he spots Scott at the end of the bar and slides on up with an eyebrow waggle.

“Find me something?”

Scott turns, his puppy eyes all wide and his crooked jaw even more adorable tonight. He’s clearly drunk, if the way he grapples at Stiles’ front and drags him in for a hug is anything to go by. “Stiles oh my god, I love you so much.”

Stiles turns to face Isaac. “You gave him tequila. You know the rule, Isaac! God, you’re so getting voted off the island.”

“Your dated references are boring,” Isaac says, and he spins away to bring drinks to the thirsty masses. Thirsty in many ways, it seems, and Stiles plans to score big.

“I have friends!” Scott crows over the music.

Stiles raises a brow at him. “That’s great, man. I’m…happy for you?”

“No!” Scott says, and he reaches up, patting Stiles’ cheek. “Friends for you. Dick friends. Friends with dicks who want to touch dicks!” Scott look around bewildered, then throws his head back and yells, “Danny! Matt!” It is, of course, lost in the thrum of the music.

“That’s nice, pal,” Stiles says, and figures that he’ll give Scott some brownie points—and maybe later some actual brownies since Scott fucking loves baked goods—for being such a good bro. And then he’ll figure this out on his own because it’s not like it’s exactly hard hooking up at the club when all you’re looking for is to get your dick wet. No commitment need apply.

Stiles eventually gets Allison’s attention and gets a gin and tonic for his reward. Scott’s still babbling, but then he lights up like the sunrise when two guys walk over. Stiles recognizes one of them—the really tall, obscenely ripped one. Danny Mahealani from BHS. He’d been starting line on the Lacrosse team while Stiles and Scott spent three years warming the bench.

Stiles is mildly offended that Danny was ridiculously hot in high school and grew up even hotter. Until he realized that Scott had been talking about Danny and yeah…this must be him. The other guy well, Stiles isn’t entirely sure about him. He looks vaguely familiar but he’s got those creeper eyes—all beady and small and _watchful_ , and a thin mouth, and thin hair, and his clothes kind of hang off him. Stiles would peg him for date-rapist or pedo if he was profiling. Which you know, he’s trying not to since he’s out in an attempt to get laid.

“Stiles, Stiles,” Scott drawls, leaning in to pat Stiles on the chest. “Stiles. These…are the ones.”

“God, you smell like an actual distillery,” Stiles says, waving Scott’s nasty breath away from his face. 

Scott actually giggles, and Stiles rolls his eyes back toward the two guys who are kind of sizing him up. Danny lifts a brow, and Stiles is like a hundred percent sure they share _a look_ which bodes very well, thank you. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Stillinski.”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah. Busy with you know. Life and shit.”

“Eloquent,” Matt drawls.

Stiles wrinkles his nose, then turns his attention back to Danny. “Did you keep up with the…uh, what was it? Computer shit?”

“Well I’m not making fake IDs anymore, but yeah,” Danny says, and he smiles and he’s got freaking dimples which is so unfair like, between him and Derek it’s like God didn’t save anything for the rest of humanity. Stiles has flat feet and moles and saggy biceps, and he’s a good person, damn it, he doesn’t _deserve_ this. “I’m an engineer. Actually, I’m only back for a visit, but Scott said you wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” Scott says dutifully, then his eyes cross and he goes a little green.

Stiles turns accusing eyes on Isaac who just shrugs. “I’m not his freaking mom.”

Stiles huffs, the turns back to Danny. “Well, I’d love to catch up.”

“Scott has my digits,” Danny says. “Matt and I are staying downtown, so maybe we can grab a drink.”

_Maybe without the creeper_ , Stiles thinks. “Yeah sure.”

“Anyway, I’m Scott’s ride, so I should probably get him out of here before he…you know.” Danny actually looks apologetic, and Stiles is momentarily dismayed because clearly no dicking down tonight, but then his phone buzzes and he looks at the screen to see an unfamiliar number with the text, **You free?** and suddenly his night is really looking up.

“You take care man,” Stiles says, and literally hops off the bar, ignores his tab because _fuck you, Isaac, that’s why_ , and heads out the door. He’s got half the text composed before he even makes it to his Jeep, and the other half finished as he leans against the side because for a guy trying to get into the FBI he’s kind of out of shape.

**_I am, actually, and my roomies are working or passed out. Wanna come to mine?_ **

**Text me the address, and see you in ten**.

Stiles does just that, then races back to the apartment to scrub up between his ass cheeks and under his balls, and then swish with Scott’s fucking disgusting listerine because Scott is a monster who doesn’t even buy the mint flavor. He rushes through the house and picks up a few pairs of nasty tighty-whiteys that he’s pretty sure are Isaac’s running underwear which…why, and then throws dishes into the sink and sniffs to make sure there’s not mold growing in random places.

He’s just about satisfied when the knock sounds at the door, and he throws it open and suddenly he’s being lifted off his feet by strong werewolf arms, and there’s a nose in his neck, then a tongue licking up to his ear. Stiles scrabbles to keep his feet partially on the ground, and tugs Derek toward his room.

Yeah. 

The night isn’t looking so bad after all.

~*~ 

“Jesus. Jesus Christ.”

“M’not,” Derek says, his voice muffled by the fact that he has his _face_ shoved into Stiles’ _ass_.

“Close enough. I’m gonna…” Stiles gasps, ruts against the pillow, spreads his legs further because Derek’s got a fucking great mouth. “I’m gonna built you a church. Gonna worship at your alter at least once…once a week.” Stiles’ eyes roll back and then Derek reaches between his legs to grab his dick. It’s awkward, but whatever, it’s totally working for him because in seconds, he’s coming _all over_.

He goes boneless and lets Derek boss him onto his back, and lick him over his stomach and over his softening dick.

“Is that a werewolf thing or a you thing?” Stiles asks.

“Mm?” Derek’s a little cum-dumb and he’s now nosing at the inside of Stiles’ thigh, leaving sweet, sweet beard burn.

“The licking thing. Like…you thing? Wolf thing?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been a human and I don’t exactly talk to my sisters about whether or not they like to lick the crotches of their partners.” Derek leans his head on Stiles’ thigh, stretched out between the open V of his legs. It’s casual, and comfortable, and kind of terrifies Stiles because he can suddenly imagine more and yeah no…that’s not what this is.

“So you’re a born wolf.”

“Mmhm,” Derek says. He rolls to the side and grins up at Stiles. “Can I stay?”

Stiles should really, really say no. And like, his shower and bathroom are kind of communal so there’s not even the promise of morning shower sex. Not unless he wants to run the risk of Isaac walking in on him—which he will because he’s an ahole like that.

But he also can’t seem to say no. Not when Derek’s eyes are all…pretty and stuff. Fuck. “Yeah. But you have to suck my dick in the morning.”

Derek chuckles and man-handles Stiles into the little spoon position, shoving his face right up against the nape of his neck. “Oh no. What a hardship.”

“Dick,” Stiles grunts.

Derek humps his ass a few times, even though he’s soft. “You like it.”

Stiles fumbles for the light, and it goes dark in the room, and he thinks this is just…all wrong. There’s not supposed to be little kisses and little spoons and post-coital cuddles under the quilt his bubi gave him. And yet…

Here they are.

~*~ 

Stiles is aware that he’s being watched even before he opens his eyes. He’s warmer than usual under his blanket, and he considers feigning sleep longer for about thirty seconds.

Until Derek’s soft, sleep-thick voice says, “I can hear the shift in your heartbeat when you wake up.”

Stiles groans and turns toward him, one eye opening bleary and kind of gross with gunk gumming up the corner. “Anyone ever tell you that’s kind of creepy?”

“That’s part of the werewolf charm. The creep-factor,” Derek says, and has no goddamn right to look so good first thing in the morning. He reaches up and carefully dislodges the wad of gunk from Stiles’ eye and just…fuck _him_ entirely. Derek leans in and kisses his chin. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Not bad, for sleeping next to a furnace.” He stretches out and feels oddly loose and relaxed for the amount of acrobatics he went through the night before. He’s still surprised his leg could actually bend that way. Even if it had taken some coaxing.

Derek sighs with a smile and reaches out, brushing his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “I like you. I like this. What we’ve got. It’s…good, right? Uncomplicated?” Stiles just stares for a while until Derek says, “Sam?” and then he’s violently reminded of who he’s supposed to be.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, man.”

Derek pushes one finger over Stiles’ heart, and Stiles thinks he heard the lie but he doesn’t actually call him on it, and Stiles would kiss him for that if it wasn’t for the fact that his mouth tastes like something died in it. “I just…my life is complicated. And it’s busy. I’m not looking for…”

“Woah hey,” Stiles says, and this time there’s no lie to read. “Man, I wasn’t looking for anything serious, okay? I just got dumped, and my life was basically one big puddle of hot, festering garbage juice. This whole having lots of really amazing orgasms is more than I thought this was going to be. I’m not unhappy.”

Derek judges his sincerity and softens, looks relieved. “Okay. Okay, that’s…good.”

“Good enough for that promised blow job?” Stiles wheedles.

Derek rolls his eyes, but then disappears under the blankets and makes Stiles scream.

~*~ 

Stiles knows there’s no avoiding his asshole roommates, but he’s pretty sure Scott’s hung over, and Isaac is still contractually obligated to say nothing until Stiles completes the agreed upon time frame for chores. So they get dressed and eventually creep out into the main room where Isaac is nursing coffee, and Scott is sitting with his cheek resting against the table.

“Guys,” Stiles says carefully, his tone almost goading, “this is Derek. You know…from the bar the other night.”

They get a couple of grunts in return.

Stiles sighs. “Derek, this is Isaac and Scott, the disaster twins. No relation.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Rough night?”

Again with the grunts.

“Do you guys work at the gym with Sam?” Derek ventures.

Stiles blanches as both Scott and Isaac perk up at that. Isaac starts to look particularly vicious. “Oh no. No, Sti—Sam is our only gym-rat here.”

Stiles says about forty silent prayers to any deity that might be listening to shut Isaac up forever, _please_. “Neither of these could hang in any of my classes.”

“Aww, you guys don’t take Sam’s Zumba classes?” Derek wheedles.

Isaac looks like fifty Christmases have come early. “No, but seriously, you should see his moves. Stiles, show us your moves.” Then he reaches for his phone and it’s gotta be like asshole magic or something because he manages to have a Nicki Minaj song blaring from his stupid little tinny speaker in about eight seconds. “This is his favorite one.”

“I’m not even going to pretend like it’s not fucking creepy you know what my favorite one is,” Stiles growls.

Scott, who is the literal living embodiment of a saint—like literally if he’s not canonized after death there is no god—stands up. “I know this one. Here let me…” And then he proceeds to do what Stiles can only describe as a puppy trying to ramba after eating a pound of chocolate-covered espresso beans.

Stiles slaps his hand over his face and then darts forward to grab Scott by his shirt and sit him down. “Thank you, Scott, really. That was…good practicing, buddy. Anyway, this has been real, but Derek has to leave and I have a murder to commit. And I don’t want you to get blood spatter on your nice shirt.” He bodily hauls Derek to the door and then lets the werewolf crowd him against it to kiss him deep and filthy for way longer than it’s appropriate.

“I’ll text you,” Derek says, dragging away with a series of lingering pecks until he’s mostly out the door and Stiles is awkwardly trying to hide his erection in his pajama pants.

The door shuts, and he waits until he’s sure Derek is almost out of the building and outside of werewolf earshot before he turns on Isaac and points a finger at him. “Fucking. Traitor.”

Isaac cackles and gets up. A minute later Stiles hears the shower go on, so he rushes over and switches on the dish washer, waiting gleefully for the screaming and cursing.

Revenge had, Stiles turns the dishwasher off, then gets coffee and plants himself across from Scott. “So, m’dude, you were pretty fucked up last night.”

Scott sighs. “Yeah. I’m…feeling conflicted and I needed to not be sober. Anyway, looks like you didn’t need my help hooking up.”

“Well your little buddies couldn’t stick around, but I did get invited out for drinks, thank god,” Stiles waggles his eyebrows.

Scott frowns. “But…you and Derek…”

“Dude, that’s a cash hook-up, and also he thinks my name is Sam and that I teach freaking Zumba at a gym.” He snorts. “Like I’ve seen the inside of a gym ever.”

Scott rolls his eyes and leans on his folded arm. “Kay well…I can pass your number along if you want.”

“That’s why you’re the best, Scotty. Seriously. Anyway I have a shift in like half an hour, but you tell him that I’m free tonight if he wants to get a drink and you know…other stuff. You wanna come by for lunch. We can walk to that pita place that just opened up.”

Scott looks suddenly alert at the promise of meat-stuffed pita. “I’m in. Noon?”

Stiles nods. “Noon.” He gives a salute and then wanders back to his room to dress for what’s probably going to be a long, long day.

~*~ 

Scott claps him on the shoulder just before he heads for the door. “Good luck tonight, man. He said he was looking forward to this since he ran into you at the bar. He grew up nice, didn’t he?”

“Right?” Stiles demands, kind of offended still, on his own behalf because Danny was already too fucking good looking like, come on man, save some for the rest of humanity. But hell, he’s kind of riding an ego high considering Greek God Derek Hale wants to bone him, and now Danny Maheleani. Two for two of the hottest dudes he’s met in years…yeah, maybe he’s not doing so bad right now.

Stiles flips his keys in the air, misses them, scrambles after as they skid out the door, and Scott closes it after him. “Asshole,” he mutters with a grin. Luckily his car isn’t parked that far, and luckily it’s Beacon Hills so everything is like exactly seven minutes from everywhere else.

He finds a decent spot—not one of those shitty-ass, back your car in spots that he can’t manage even if his life depended on it—and scrambles out. He’s nervous suddenly, because Danny isn’t some random hookup who doesn’t know his name, and it’s not like he’s looking for _something_ , and he was pretty sure Danny made it clear anything that goes on is just a one-off. Which is fine. That’s great. It’s good. But if his performance is shitty, he’s going to have to live as Danny’s Bad Lay for the rest of his life. Like…to their shared, mutual friends whose respect he’s barely earned over the long years of knowing them.

He takes a breath and then gives his dick a quick, mental pep-talk. _You and me dude? We’ve got this. We’ve managed to make Derek happy, right? So we can do the same for Danny. Don’t fucking fail me tonight. I’ve been good to you over the years, alright? So please, don’t let me down. Let me like…up._

Maybe not the best pep-talk in the world, but it’s all he’s got.

He drags his hands through his hair, then heads into the hotel lobby.

~*~

It’s kind of dark, that attempt to make it look like romantic or something but it just comes across like they used the lightbulbs from the clearance shelf at Home Depot. I mean, it’s Beacon Hills, nothing here is five star. There’s the little bar that’s off to the side, and he hears sports on the TV, and a couple of loud voices he thinks are the guys who work at the RV dealership who used to come into The Mean Bean every morning and complain about how the coffee tastes burnt.

He pokes his head in and in the crappy lighting he sees a lone figure at the bar. The guy’s too skinny to be Danny, so he strolls up to order a drink as he waits. Then the guy turns and Stiles’ heart plummets because well…he knows the guy.

“Matt,” he croaks, and he thinks yeah, this is karma for lying to Derek. Fuck.

Matt’s face falls into that weird, creepy, stalker-smile from the night before. “Hey,” he says, dragging out the word. “You know, when Scott said you wanted to meet up with me, I was pretty surprised.”

“You and me both, buddy,” Stiles admits, flailing.

Matt waves him over, and Stiles obeys without really thinking, his brain busy trying to figure out how the _hell_ he’s going to get out of this. “What are you drinking? Their stuff is pretty cheap, but I don’t mind that because I don’t really like paying for a lot on the first date. You know how it goes, right? Can he get like, your cheapest whiskey? Ice? Is it extra for ice? If it’s not extra, then some ice, please.”

Stiles is just kind of staring and the bartender looks mildly horrified but also amused like he wants to see how this all plays out. Stiles is pretty sure his own horror is showing, but Matt seems oblivious.

The bartender hands over the drink—no ice. So just…warm whiskey. In a glass.

Stiles drinks it in one go. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“I ordered some friend mushrooms and zucchini. I splurged on the extra ranch,” Matt says like he just admitted to ordering one of those thousand dollar sundaes that come with fourteen karat gold flakes.

Said food appears, like by some sort of dirty bar-kitchen magic. It smells like fry oil and weirdly like McDonalds chicken nuggets, and when Matt gestures at the plate, Stiles picks up a mushroom and bites down. Hot oil explodes in his mouth and he claps his hand over it. “Brb,” he garbles out, and rushes to the bathroom.

The whiskey and too-oily, slimy mushroom aren’t exactly doing wonders for his stomach, and he locks himself in the stall and pulls out his phone—damn near desperate.

Then, like a literal Fuck Angel, a text comes in from Derek. **At the jungle, buzzed and horny, wanna get ur dick sucked in the bathroom?**

Inspiration strikes, and Stiles jets out of the stall only to find Matt standing there looking…well Stiles isn’t even sure what the hell kind of face he’s making. “So I’m sick. My stomach is uh…it’s, you know, not great. I should go home. Sorry for cancelling like that.”

Matt looks resigned and shrugs. “That’s why I didn’t go for the expensive whiskey. My last date got hit with the runs two drinks in.”

Stiles wants to tell him that maybe the higher shelf shit won’t lead to explosive diarrhea two drinks in, but it’s really not worth wasting the time to lecture him when Derek and his sweet, sweet mouth is waiting. Stiles washes his hands because he’s not a damn heathen, then he bolts.

Luckily The Jungle is six minutes away on foot.

He’s mostly worked off the crap whiskey and the gross mushroom by the time he slides through the door, and is waylaid by Boyd’s large hand. “Are you coming to the Halloween party? It’s Mia’s doubling as Mia’s birthday party.”

“You think I,” Stiles says, putting an offended hand to his chest, “her self-appointed Godfather, would miss her third birthday? Who do you take me for?”

Boyd just gives him _a look_. “Don’t be late, don’t give her candy this year, and nothing that takes batteries.”

Stiles rolls his eyes mostly because now he has to go back to the freaking store and return half the shit he’s already bought. But he can’t be too pissed because he looks across the room and sees Derek see him. He catches the salacious look, then watches as Derek gets up in his offensively tight jeans, and saunter into the bathroom.

Stiles’ entire body goes dehydrated. He scrambles after Derek, not paying attention to anyone or anything. He flings the door open and says a small prayer of thanks that it’s empty apart from one stall at the very end. He hurries over, and a hand reaches out, dragging him inside, slamming the door.

Stiles lets out a groan, but it’s swallowed by Derek’s hot mouth which tastes like beer. His beard is even longer, and softer against his cheeks as Stiles’ mouth opens to Derek’s. He lets the werewolf crowd him against the side of the stall—which in retrospect is kind of nasty, but also really fucking hot. Derek’s mouth tears away from his, and he buries his face in Stiles’ neck. “Fuck. You smell so good. God I just…I want…” His hand starts to snake down, and cups Stiles’ painfully hard erection through his jeans.

“Yes. Fuck I—" he starts, then he hears the door bang open.

“…and I mean, I thought it was going well. I dressed up and everything, and Scott said he was interested so I don’t think it was anything I did.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it, man,” comes another voice.

Stiles lets his head fall back gently because _fuck_ , of all the fucking luck. He immediately recognizes Matt and Danny’s voices. He’s about to mouth something at Derek, but then Derek shoves a hand into Stiles’ jeans and a groan escapes him before he can stop it.

Danny and Matt go silent, then Matt’s voice sounds loud and whiny. “Is someone in here? Is someone being attacked in here?”

“No,” Derek all-but growls, kind of wolfy and stupid hot.

Clearly it’s the wrong thing to say, because they get a second warning as Matt shouts, “I’m kicking the door down!” before he does. The cheap as hell latch gives way, and then Matt and Danny have a full view of Stiles, with Derek’s hand in his pants.

“Stiles?” Matt says in a small voice.

“Stiles!” Danny shouts.

The bathroom door bangs open and Isaac comes rushing in. His eyes widen as he sees what’s in the stall. “Stiles!” he says, just before Stiles shakes his head. “Uh…I mean. Sam?”

Derek’s hand has retracted, and he’s backing away. “Sam? What the hell is going on?”

Stiles wants to melt into the floor, and he’s pretty sure his dick has given up the ghost for good at this point. He’s never been more mortified. “Uh…”

“Stiles, how could you do this to me?” Matt demands. “I loved you.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Okay uh…no, you didn’t. We were on ah-date, dude. As in like one date where you fed me crappy bar food and the worst whiskey ever like who even asks if they charge for ice?! And Derek I um… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. Like, I feel bad for the real Sam, you know? But you were there and you were just so fucking pretty and I wanted to just drop to my knees and spend an hour licking your abs before letting you fuck me and god damn it, can you blame me? I’m off the grid!”

Derek’s hands come up. “I’m out. Sorry Sam. Stiles. Whatever. This is just too much for me right now.”

Then he’s gone.

Stiles sags against the door and gives the three men still staring at him a furious look. “Thanks a lot, assholes. I hope you never get laid again!”

~*~ 

Stiles is halfway to drinky-drink town with a cracked mug full of vodka with faded writing on the side that reads Might Be Vodka because in his sheer humiliation and pain he thought it was funny. No one’s home—Isaac’s still at the bar studiously ignoring his texts, and Scott is god knows where—probably avoiding the fact that Stiles plans to rip him several new ones for getting the whole night _so fucking wrong_. He really just plans to wallow and feel sorry for himself and the loss of all those great orgasms when there’s a knock at the door.

He tips back a swallow, and suppresses his _urgh, gross_ face and saunters over to see who the hell is bothering him at what the fuck are you doing at my door o’clock. He swings it open and half expects like Allison or Lydia or maybe even Erica—figures Isaac called in the cavalry.

But it isn’t any of them.

He nearly chokes on his own tongue because he’s standing there staring at _Derek_ who looks way too good to exist in his tight jeans and white shirt with a weird, red stain at the hem, and his leather jacket all Modern Day God of the Dead with those brows and frown. God _damn_.

“Uh,” is what he says, so eloquently.

“Sam,” he says, then shakes his head. “Stiles. What kind of name is Stiles, anyway?”

“It happened after my parents decided to name me Mieczysław, which is a testament to either being really emotionally fucked or really drunk because I never say that name aloud like…ever.”

Derek’s mouth quirks up at the corner, and he doesn’t look pissed which…okay. Stiles can roll with that, even though it’s confusing as hell. “Has any part of your body ever been in a Zumba class before?”

Stiles can’t help the laugh that’s all-but punched out of him. “Oh my god, no. No, I have never been to a Zumba class before. I just got fired from The Mean Bean, and I work at the bookstore across the street from that now, and in like eight weeks I’m going to be interning at the FBI when they recruited me out of my CLJ Master’s program, and I…I really am sorry. Just…I really wanted to sleep with you.”

Derek’s eyes are dark now, but not angry. They’ve got that same look they get right before he pins Stiles to the door and sucks his dick so hard he can’t breathe. “I don’t care.”

Stiles blinks. “You don’t…care?”

“I don’t care what your name is, or what you do. I don’t care. I was on grindr because my sisters kept setting me up on bad dates with people they work with, and I firmly believe in not shitting where you eat so work was off limits and my job is insanely busy all the time. I’m not a freelance writer who loves spending weekends at his beach cottage like I said on my profile.” He grins and steps toward Stiles. “Although I actually do kind of like James Blunt.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open just as Derek’s hands reach for his waist and hauls him in so their noses are brushing. “I fucking hate James Blunt,” Stiles murmurs.

Derek’s grin goes a little feral. “I don’t. Fucking. Care. But I’d like to bend you over your desk and fuck you until the only thing you can remember is my name.”

Stiles scrambles between trying to get both hands _all over_ Derek, and closing the door. He only manages the first, so Derek kicks the door shut with his foot, then lifts Stiles into the air with his stupid werewolf strength, and follows Stiles’ scent to the correct bedroom and proceeds to follow through with his plan.

~*~ 

Derek stays the night, then fucks Stiles early in the morning before anyone else is awake. It’s nice now, not having the lies between them, and Stiles can relax about fucking it all up. Derek even lets him cuddle, his head pillowed between Derek’s obscene pecs, enjoying the way his hair feels against his cheek—surprisingly softer than it looks. Maybe that’s a wolf thing.

“So we can really do this?” Stiles asks.

Derek makes an inquiring noise at him.

Turning his head to look at his kaleidoscope eyes, Stiles’ breath goes a little shuddery. “Fuck each other. Like do this…this fucking thing?”

Derek chuckles, low and soft, like a rumble in his chest. His hand comes up to toy with the soft, freshly shorn undercut Stiles is rocking this month. “Yeah, we can do this.” Then he sounds kind of weird and hesitant. “But I don’t…”

Stiles sits up a little more, but Derek kind of holds him in place by the back of his neck. “What?”

“I don’t want it to get complicated, you know? I’m not…I don’t _date_ , and I don’t want us to get caught up in all that shit that comes with dating.” He looks slightly embarrassed now, all pink at the tips of his ears, and it’s really fucking cute.

It’s also a tiny bit insulting because yeah Stiles has a crush, but he’s also nursing the whole getting unceremoniously dumped by his long-term girlfriend and he’s not exactly looking for a boyfriend. Just some good sex and maybe someone who wants to get brunch one or two Sundays a month.

“Dude. First of all, I’m a catch so you could only be so lucky.” Derek thwaps him for that, and he grins unrepentant. “Second of all, I wasn’t kidding when I said I got dumped. Like the kind of dumped where I thought we were fine and good, and I was going to do some romantic bullshit for her over the weekend, and I come home and she’s like Hey Stiles, glad you’re home. We need to talk. Here, let me shove this knife into your chest and rip your heart out.”

Derek makes a sympathetic noise, his fingers gentling at the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Apparently everyone saw it coming but me because I’m kind of a dense moron. And retrospect I could see how the long-term thing just wasn’t her jam, and if I had done something as stupid as proposed and she’d said yes…it wouldn’t have ended well.” Stiles sighs and lays his head back down. “The night I met you, I just…wanted someone to make me feel good.”

Derek reaches down, tipping Stiles’ chin up so they’re looking at each other. “And I made you feel good?” His tone was sincere, and so sweet it made Stiles’ jaw ache.

He pushes up onto his elbow and kisses Derek with his come-flavored morning breath. “Yeah. You made me feel good. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep feeling good for a while.”

“I can work with that,” Derek says, then flips Stiles over and takes his dick into his mouth again, sucks him til he’s hard, then sucks him til he comes.

It’s definitely the not the worst way Stiles has started his morning.

~*~ 

It’s great until it’s not, really.

And this time it’s not even Stiles’ fault. It’s Scott and Allison, the dirty, dirty traitors. He comes home from filling out the internship paperwork kind of on top of the world with orgasms on the regular, and his career goals working out, and his heart kind of healing from Malia’s tearing it out when he sees a familiar suitcase on the living room floor.

He blinks up, feeling betrayal hit him in waves before he’s really aware of what it is. Then he sees Allison and Malia coming out of the back room, both smiling. They notice him, and the air sort of escapes the room, and the tension is so thick, Stiles is pretty sure he could scoop it out with an ice cream scoop.

Malia offers him a tentative smile. “Scott said it was okay. It’s just for a couple of months. I mean…we’re good, right?”

Stiles spins on his heel and looks at Scott who is trying his best kicked-puppy face on him. It’s so not working. “What the fuck is this?”

“Like she said, just for a few months. She…she had no where to go! What was I supposed to do, let her rot in the street?” Scott demands.

Stiles throws up his hands. “Yes! Yes, dude, you’re supposed to let her rot in the street! God! First Danny and now this.” He points his finger. “You are dead to me. Dead.”

He storms out the door, but he knows there’s not a lot he can do about it. If Scott brought her in, it means Isaac voted for it, which is two-to-one, and well…that’s what he gets for living with a couple of fuck-nuggets for roommates. Some day when he’s a high-ranking FBI agent working for President Michelle Obama, he’ll laugh about this.

Until then, he’s going to head to the bar for day drinking, because that’s the only thing in the world that’s going to make this situation palatable. Also he’s going to text Derek, because if he’s going to have to live with his ex, he’s damn well going to get as many mind-blowing orgasms as he can manage for however long Malia is staying. And in retrospect, maybe if he’s thinking about it _that_ way, he can encourage her to stay just a little bit longer.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles is not the biggest fan of cardio. Most of the time. This kind of cardio though, yeah. He’s into it. Lying on Derek’s bed with the cracked window letting a breeze wash over his sweat-soaked skin…he could get used to that. Which then reminds him he probably shouldn’t because well, this is just…what it is. Not a thing. A hook-up until Derek gets tired of him or meets someone who can actually make him want to stay.

Right now though, it’s a great distraction from the fact that Malia’s now living in his apartment, and when he comes home from work, she’s there. When he gets up in the morning, she’s there. When he wants to veg on the couch in his underwear and watch old Star Trek episodes on Netflix? Yeah. She’s fucking _there_. 

They haven’t said more than two words to each other, really, but that doesn’t exactly make it better. And Stiles had hoped that first week he could utilize the whole FWB shit he’s got going on with Derek except Derek was suspiciously busy every freaking night Stiles texted.

Until now. Finally.

Stiles didn’t even say anything as he burst through Derek’s front door. He just grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans and sank to his knees and crowded Derek back against the door right before swallowing his dick.

Derek didn’t come then. No, he pulled Stiles off him and bodily manhandled him to his bedroom and proceeded to fuck him until he almost cried. Then, after Stiles came, Derek flipped him and jacked himself over Stiles’ chest.

It was hot, and it was mindless, and it was exactly what Stiles needed.

Until right now when he saw Derek was giving him _a look_.

“What? Do I have come in my hair or something?”

Derek snorts and brushes a thumb over Stiles’ forehead. “No. But I could smell something on you when you walked in. You’re upset.”

Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s no big deal, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek says. “Also it is a big deal. You didn’t text me all damn week looking to get off if it was nothing. That’s not like you.”

Stiles wants to argue that how the fuck would Derek know what he was like since they don’t really know jack shit about each other. Except it’s been a while now—a nice little while, and maybe Derek sort of does. “What did I smell like?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Hurt. Not physically, but something else. Distressed.”

“Okay that’s…like helpful but really fucking annoying. That smelling thing. And it’s…” Stiles turns onto his belly and kind of inches closer to Derek who lets him crowd in and cuddle up. “Life was good for a while, then it got all shitty again and I don’t really…” He closes his eyes and breathes in the musky sweat-smell of post-sex Derek. “Do you have any ex’s?”

He glances up at the silence and sees a strange, pensive expression on Derek’s face. After a beat, Derek lets out a bone-deep sigh. “Yeah. A couple.”

“Scott, who is dead to me, by the way, he fucking…” Stiles lets out a frustrated groan. “Malia moved in.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that’s your ex.”

“The big one,” Stiles says. “The virginity one. Which I know, blah blah virginity is a social construct yada yada. Except it was a big deal to me because I was this epic, unwanted nerd in high school. Then some shit went really wrong for me and I…had to go away for a while to get better and she was there. And like the rebellious little seventeen year old shits we were, we fucked in the basement. I thought it was going to be good, but she was in a bad place and it…wasn’t.”

Derek frowns at him, and his hand begins playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “It’s been a long time since high school.”

“We reconnected. Against the advice of literally all my friends, I went there again. It was good, until it wasn’t, only apparently I didn’t get the memo and she walked out on me again. Now I’m questioning myself because how the fuck did I not notice things were not good?”

“It happens. Believe me.” Derek’s voice is all dark like he’s seen some shit. “The last time I tried the serious thing, she ended up not being the person she said she was. In a literal sense. A stolen identity sense. She’s in jail now.”

“Jesus,” Stiles breathes, tucking his face into Derek’s side and squeezing a little bit. “Jesus okay. I guess the no dating thing makes total sense.” He sits up and narrows his eyes at Derek. “Though my dad’s the sheriff and you can totally meet him if you ever start feeling kinda squirrely about me.”

Derek chuckles and drags Stiles in for a soft kiss. “I trust you.”

That warms Stiles deep and intense, and he shoves that away because nope. Nope. This is good right now and he’s not about to ruin something this good for something as stupid as catching _feelings_. So he makes the kiss a little filthy and then collapses back down. “My friends—parents of my goddaughter—they’re throwing this party this weekend for Halloween and I have to go. Of course. But now that Malia is back, she’s going to be there and it’s going to be fucking terrible.”

Derek drags fingers through Stiles’ hair again, soothing and sweet. “She won’t be there forever.”

“No,” Stiles says, getting sleepy. He hums thoughtfully. “How do I keep from doing something stupid again? I’m tired of being hurt.”

“I wish I could tell you, but I haven’t figured out the answer to that question yet. If I do though…”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and feels the blackness of sleep tugging at his edges. “You’ll let me know.”

He feels Derek rearrange him to his liking. Hears the click of the lamp going off. Derek snuffles against him, breathing in his scent, scenting him back. “I’ll let you know,” he finally agrees. And then Stiles is asleep.

~*~ 

His life needs more drama. At least, that’s what the universe thinks, because two hours into his shift he gets a frantic call from Erica. “Boyd and I are an hour away, and the school just called. Mia got hurt, and she’s being taken to the ER and my mom’s not picking up and I…”

“I’ve got this,” Stiles is saying, using his Stay Calm voice. He’s already got his keys in hand, and he’s making weird, wild gestures at his boss which is probably going to get him fired but who the fuck cares because it’s Mia and this is his job.

“Thank you,” Erica breathes. “Boyd’s already at like felony levels of speeding but there’s a goddamn accident and I’m about to jump out and murder some people.”

“Then you’ll end up all tied up with paperwork and it’ll take you even longer to get home, okay?” Stiles reminds her. “No murder, or no kiddo.”

“Right,” Erica says.

“I’m going to call you the second I get there, okay? I’m literally three minutes away. Now I’m going to hang up and drive.” He does exactly that, and he peels into the Beacon Hills General parking lot and squeals into the first spot he sees which he thinks is for the fire chief but he’ll take the ticket. He hurtles through the entrance doors and sees a vaguely familiar nurse working behind the glass. “Mia Boyd. Peds.”

She rolls her eyes and waves her hand. He hears the doors unlock and he flies through them, and down the hall, through three turns until he reaches the Pediatric ER. Mia’s sitting on one of the triage beds and Stiles can see the gash in her head. It’s got some sort of clear, thick fluid on it, and he turns to see Melissa walking toward him with an exasperated smile on her face.

“I’m pretty sure this is your influence,” she admonishes.

Stiles rolls his eyes and tamps down on his near hysteria because that’ll do the three year old no damn good. She smiles when he hops up on her bed, making her bounce just a little it. “Concussion?”

“No, just a gash. She’s going to need about six stitches, but we’re just waiting for the doctor to get in.” Melissa bends down and kisses Mia’s temple. “You know you’re not supposed to get hit in the head right before your party!”

Mia scowls. “But…will I be a bunny still, auntie?”

“You’ll be the best bunny,” Melissa promises her.

Stiles eases her into his lap and holds on. He’s shaking slightly, and he just prays she doesn’t notice. Stiles has a weird relationship with hospitals considering everything he’s been through in them. But mostly his memories now consist of bothering Melissa at work with Scott, or Mia’s birth, or the few times Erica has been admitted after her seizure caused a fall, and they brought in Cho’s Garden take-out and Dirty Dancing to binge for the night.

He doesn’t like the scary stuff. But at least it can’t get worse.

Or well, he thinks it can’t get worse until there’s a knock on the wall near the curtain, and it pulls apart and fucking _Derek_ is standing there in scrubs covered in _puppies_ of all fucking things. He’s smiling until he sees it’s Stiles holding her, then his face goes really, really pale.

“Um.”

“I’m not her dad,” Stiles blurts, like a class A _moron_. Derek’s eyebrows fly up. “She’s my goddaughter. We…you know this.”

“Well I didn’t know it was her, but I knew she had one,” he says dryly, and he sounds calm but Stiles can read his tells and he knows Derek is internally losing his entire, hecking _shit_ because this is definitely a side of him he hadn’t told Stiles about before.

He’s a goddamn pediatrician. Fuck.

“We just got her parents on the phone, permission to do the stitches. I take it you’re the emergency contact?” Derek asks.

Stiles feels like he’s on the verge of swallowing his tongue. “Uh. That would be me, yes.”

“So you’ll need to hold her while I get this done. Her skin should be pretty numb by now, but this part gets a little freaky.” The nurse brings in tools then, on a little push tray, and Derek’s got gloves on and he’s sitting on a wheelie stool between Stiles’ legs. He’s absolutely _not_ looking at Stiles, and Stiles is absolutely _not_ thinking about what happened the last time Derek was between his legs. Like…but without a kid between them.

Derek takes his stethoscope off his neck and hands it over, and Stiles realizes it’s got pictures of Moana painted all over it. Fuck. Fuck his life entirely. “Okay Miss Mia, can you keep this safe for me? Moana is my good luck charm and I don’t want anything to happen to it. Can I trust you?”

Mia clutches it tight to her. “Yeah. I’m…real good, okay?”

Derek nods seriously. “I can tell. That’s why you have to hold it while I make your head all better. Then after that, you can have an ice pop.” Stiles resolutely holds Mia while rolling his eyes to the ceiling and breathes out. This is not attractive, this is not making him think about white picket fences and babies and two dogs. He does not want this. Derek is a gross, sweaty man who _came in his hair_ two nights ago and absolutely _not_ father material.

“Do you go to school, Mia?” he’s asking while he’s working, and fuck, she’s not even flinching. She’s just telling Dr. Derek about the poopy head boy at her table who keeps breaking all the “lello crayons”. “Boys are the poopiest heads,” Derek agrees like he’s listening to someone’s dissertation on the poopiness of boys. “I have a big brother and he’s a poo head too.”

Mia giggles. “But mommy says I can’t haff more brothers,” Mia tells him. “She’s got broked in her head sometimes. Will I be haffing owies like mommy?”

Derek frowns at Stiles.

“Epilepsy,” Stiles supplies. “The pregnancy was high-risk, she was told no more.”

“Ah,” Derek says, then looks back at Mia. “No, sweetheart, you just have this little owie, and then it’ll get better in a few weeks. And no more.”

“Okay,” she says.

Derek finishes up, then stands up looking pained. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll get the uh…ice pop.”

The nurse comes over to dress the stitches, and Stiles eases himself from around Mia. “Can I pick out the flavor?” Which is obviously code for, can we talk about this obscenely embarrassing and horrifying moment here?

Derek nods, and Stiles follows him into a small room with a big fridge, and a little table, and some things that look suspiciously like pee cups on the counter. Gross.

“Look,” Derek says, turning to face Stiles, “I didn’t tell you what I did for a reason. But it’s not because I thought…it’s not because I don’t trust you,” he flails. “It was hard enough being a werewolf and being allowed to pass med school, let alone get a job working with kids. And I don’t…people react weird to it.”

“Who’s being weird?” Stiles says, just a little louder than he means to be. “Certainly not me. Like…I don’t…this is nothing, okay? You’re just…ew. A gross, tall, attractive man and this means _nothing_.”

Derek blinks at him. “Okay.”

Stiles blows out a puff of air. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to burst in on you like this. I never wanted to violate your space.”

“You didn’t,” Derek assures him. His hand reaches out, then pulls back before he can touch. He turns to the fridge and pulls out four colors of ice-pop and Stiles points at the blue one for Mia. Derek waggles the other three, so Stiles rolls his eyes and points at the yellow. 

When Derek makes a face, Stiles huffs and grabs it from him. “Lemon is amazing, I’m not even sorry.”

Derek laughs, and peels the wrapper back on the red, and takes a bite out of it. Stiles thinks of dicks and hates himself a little because they’re in a fucking pediatric ER. “Cherry for life, man.”

Stiles huffs. “Whatever you say, dude.”

Derek’s eyes narrow, but he just takes another bite.

“So can I…uh. I was thinking tomorrow um…”

Derek pinks. “I have plans.”

“Oh.” And Stiles heart goes to racing because yeah, he fucked up. This whole thing just fucked up everything good he had going on. God, fuck his _life_.

Derek obviously hears his heart, and takes a step closer. “It’s not like that. A friend of mine is in town. I’ve had these plans for like a month. We’re good.”

Stiles blows out a puff of air and he’s not sure if he believes Derek or not, but so far Derek hasn’t lied to him so… “Do you want to come to the Halloween party on Saturday with me?” he blurts out. “Just…for moral support. Ex girlfriend and all that.”

Derek’s face is suspiciously blank. “Can I let you know. I’m on call this weekend.”

Stiles nods, but he doesn’t feel good about it. “I should get this to Mia.”

Derek nods, and doesn’t stop him when he leaves. That might be the thing that hurts worst.

~*~ 

Derek doesn’t text, and so as not to seem like some clingy dude who wants to be Derek’s boyfriend, Stiles doesn’t either.

“Except you want to be his boyfriend. You want to hold hands and get matching his and his towels, and touch dicks over breakfast,” Boyd says, pointing his fork at Stiles over the table.

Stiles gives him The Look. “What the fuck? Do you think gay dudes just sit around eating food, naked, genital touching?”

“I think Boyd is trying to say that if he were free and available for you, Stiles, he’d like to eat breakfast and touch dicks with you,” Isaac supplies helpfully, which only earns him a few fries tossed in his face.

Stiles sighs and bangs his forehead against the table and hates all of his friends _so goddamn much_. “When I’m like an FBI super agent for the White House and shit, all of you will say you knew me when, because I will have lost your numbers. On purpose.”

Everyone boos him.

“You’re just pissed off because we’re right,” Allison says primly. “He was really good looking, and kind of an ass which is exactly your type, but he also clearly has a hero complex, coupled with the fact that he’s a natural predator…”

“It’s why people love those shitty vampire romances,” Lydia supplies. “They want to see the human side of the monster.”

“That’s speciest,” Stiles says. “Like literally that’s the world’s worst stereotype about werewolves.” He means it, too. I mean okay yes the whole super strong, broody werewolf thing was attractive from an objective standpoint, but he knows Derek as a person and the whole werewolf predator thing just leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I don’t mean he’s a monster,” Lydia says, unfazed. “I’m just saying that’s the appeal of the whole big bad werewolf who takes care of little kids and gives them ice pops and kisses their boo-boos.”

“Mia thinks he walks on water now,” Erica says.

Stiles sighs loudly. “Thank you so much. This is helping.”

“My mom said he’s only been working at the hospital for like two months—he was in New York but he and his family used to live here like fifteen years ago or something. Then his house burned down and almost killed his entire pack so they left.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles says.

“My aunt was arrested for it,” Allison puts in, and she sounds super weird about it which…well, he doesn’t blame her.

And yeah, Stiles knows that part, knows that Allison comes from fucking bananas breeding stock, so it’s not a surprise. But the degrees of separation have gone from six to like point five and it’s starting to freak him out. “Anyway….”

“Anyway, the point is,” Scott says, “you should probably tell him how you feel.”

“Oh Scotty, oh you precious angel,” Stiles says, “he knows. There’s no fucking way he doesn’t know. I had to give my dick a firm talking-to in the ER when it got all _interested_ in the whole giving kids lollipops and shit. It was all over his face. He was like oh Stiles, I just don’t tell people what I do because being a pediatrician ER doctor makes people go all gooey inside and I just want to put my dick inside you and then come on your face and I can’t do that if you start thinking boyfriend thoughts about watching Star Wars and sharing fuzzy socks. He basically ran me out of there and he hasn’t texted.”

“He said he was busy,” Scott reminds him.

“Yep. Busy getting all up on the hottest woman I have ever seen in my life,” Erica says, and everyone immediately follows her eyeline out the big restaurant window and yeah. Yep. There’s Derek.

He’s across the street coming out of the Starbucks with his arm around a woman’s waist. And Erica’s not wrong. She _is_ possibly the hottest woman Stiles has ever seen. She’s a head shorter than him, thick thighs and a tank-top that’s working _hard_ over her curvy chest, and she’s in a leather jacket which yeah—yeah that’s definitely someone who should be on Derek’s arm. She’s got long, straightened black hair, golden brown skin, and a smile almost as sharp as Derek’s.

God, they’d make the most beautiful babies.

Stiles watches with his heart trying to escape through his feet as Derek’s head falls back and he laughs—open and unabashed. He threads an arm around her waist and kisses her temple, then her cheek.

Stiles’ heart doesn’t need to escape now because it’s shattered into tiny, little microscopic pieces.

The entire table is dead silent, and Lydia reaches under it to take his hand. “I’m sorry,” she says.

They move on after that, but Stiles’ heart just isn’t in it.

~*~ 

By Saturday, Stiles figures the reason why Derek isn’t texting isn’t just because Stiles freaked him out. It’s probably also because Derek figured out that the woman he was with is a much better choice for life-partner. She’s definitely not the ex, and since they’re not exclusive, she’s probably another hook-up. 

But Stiles can’t compete.

So as he’s putting on the little chicken-feathered head-piece that Erica made since Stiles is going as Hei-Hei to Mia’s Moana, he walks up to Scott. “Any chance Danny’s still in town?”

Scott’s eyebrows fly up. “Really?”

“Dude, I fucked up my orgasms on the regular and I need something to make me feel better.”

Scott sighs. “I don’t think one night stands are going to cheer you up, here. Like, I know moving Malia in here was a dick move, and I know you were pretty hurt by her leaving you…”

“I don’t think that’s it anymore,” Stiles says.

Scott smiles at him. “I know, dude. It’s Derek. But you hooked up with Derek because of all that, and now you’re hurting and I feel bad. But you need to work that out on your own. Not with sex. That always just makes it worse for you.”

Stiles wants to be pissed, but Scott knows him too well, unfortunately. So he just storms off and finishes up the bright yellow and blue make-up, and puts the little beak over his nose, then leaves without Scott to teach him a lesson about being a Hermione-level, insufferable know-it-all.

~*~

The party’s already going when Stiles arrives, and it’s split into two sections—one with Mia and her friends, and the other with parents who are stoked to have an excuse to get wasted. Stiles really considers grabbing a drink, but instead slips to the kids’ side and is immediately accosted by Mia who looks ridiculously adorable. Her natural curls are set over her shoulders in long waves, and she looks perfect in her little skirt. The cut on her head is barely noticeable, though every time Stiles looks at the bandage he thinks of Derek and then _hates everything_.

Still, he affects a smile and walks around with her and pretends to peck at random objects, and shoves doughnuts in his mouth at warp speed. He sees Erica and Boyd who give him a look which is worrisome until he hears Mia screech, “Doctor Derek!”

Stiles wants to crawl under a table and die.

Instead he turns and sees Derek walking up with a smile, and a lollipop, wearing scrubs—this time with kittens on them.

Fuck him _entirely_.

“Hi, Miss Mia. Happy Birthday. What are you, fourteen? Fifteen?”

“Four!” she yells, then launches herself at him and he swings her up and onto his shoulder for a ride.

“I hate him on principle for breaking your heart, but Jesus he’s good with kids,” Erica mutters. “We’ve already changed over to his practice.”

“I hope you all get ingrown toenails,” Stiles grouses. “Well, not Mia, but the rest of you.”

“Sorry, Batman,” she says, and kisses his cheek before Mia’s released and runs off.

Stiles stands there like an awkward ass as Derek meanders up. “Hei-Hei.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Doctor. Which by the way doesn’t even count, dude.”

Derek reaches into his front pocket and pulls out one of those little mirrors dentists use to check molars. “I’m an Orthodontist, actually.”

Stiles huffs. “Oh fuck you, that’s cheating.”

“It was the best I could do, I’ve been at the hospital since midnight last night. One of my long-term patients…isn’t doing well. I stayed on to take some of her pain until they could get her into the OR.”

Aaaand great. That’s just…fucking great. “Sorry,” is what he says.

Derek shuffles his feet, then elbows Stiles. “You want to go back to my place after this.”

Stiles will later plead insanity, because he has no fucking clue why he just opens his mouth and blurts out, “I think I’m falling in love with you!” but he does. He just…does it.

Derek looks like he’s been slapped, and he blinks rapidly. Then says in that awful, pitying voice, “Stiles…”

“I know,” Stiles says, throwing up his arms. “I know. You said not to fall in love with you. You told me exactly what this was, and I’m the one who fucked it all up. But in my defense you wear scrubs with puppies and kittens on them, and you give kids kisses and popsicles, and you save lives, and you stay at the hospital all night to take a kid’s pain even though that’s so not in a doctor’s job description. And you give really, really good orgasms, and you cuddle me afterward and I just…I tried. And I failed. So I’m gonna go.”

“Stiles,” Derek says again, pained and small.

Stiles stops, but he doesn’t turn back. “No. Just…let me have what’s left of my dignity, okay? That’s the last thing I’ll ask you for. I promise.”

And then he leaves.

~*~ 

He’s home all of ten minutes when there’s a repeated knocking on the door. He wants it to be Derek. God, he wants it to be Derek. But he sat in the driveway at Erica and Boyd’s for ten minutes waiting to see if he was wrong, if Derek would come after him.

But he didn’t. 

So Stiles put his car in drive, and had a short cry on the drive home which had all-but dried up by the tie he pulled up to his apartment.

Now he’s trying to figure who the hell can be on the other side of the door and god, it’s probably Scott doing something stupid like trying to knock to give him the _choice_ of whether or not he wants to answer it because Scott is a good friend. Stiles doesn’t want a good friend right now.

He wants Derek.

He wants Derek to have pulled his head out of his ass and fallen in love with Stiles too. But Stiles knows how the universe works and he knows that it’s never in his favor.

He walks over and throws it open, and is absolutely convinced he’s hallucinating because if he’s not mistaken, a hot as fuck doctor wearing kitten scrubs looking fucking _wrecked_ is standing there with his knuckles red from pounding on the door, and cheeks flushed like he was worried.

“I…” is all Stiles can make his mouth say.

Derek just pushes in, just crowds Stiles back into the apartment and kicks the door shut. For an insane second Stiles thinks maybe Derek’s here to kill him—like maybe that’s the punishment for getting it so fucking wrong and being such a fucking _dipshit_ about this whole friends with benefits thing.

Then Derek pushes his hands into his hair and all the product makes it go kind of spiky and he looks ten years younger for only a moment. “You dumbass.”

Stiles blinks at him.

“You can’t just throw all that shit on me and then _leave_ , who the fuck does that, Stiles!”

Stiles swallows thickly. “The kind of dumbass who was dumb enough to fall for you even though you told me not to. Like…repeatedly.”

“And it didn’t occur to you for even a second that I might be falling for you too?”

Stiles wants to laugh, and kind of punch him in the face because what the _hell_ , man. “You! You told me not to! You said people got stupid about you when they found out what you did for a living. You got so weird at the hospital, then you went on a _date_ with your _girlfriend_.”

“That was not my girlfriend. That was my former hook up who, by the way, is getting married to my sister. She came here to discuss floral arrangements because apparently Laura is refusing to help plan anything.” Derek looks wild, like he wants to either kill or kiss Stiles and he can’t decide which.

Stiles, for his part, says, “I don’t know who the fuck Laura is. I’m assuming your sister because context and shit but Derek, I don’t know anything about you.”

Derek stalks closer, and his voice and face both go so, so soft. “You know some things. Like how I take my coffee, and the one spot on the back of my neck that makes me go boneless.”

Stiles huffs a small laugh. “Okay but…”

“And…you’re right. I gave you no clues that I was falling head over heels for you, but I was. I spent three hours talking to Braeden about how the hell I was going to confess and how scared I was you were going to tell me to get fucked because it wasn’t part of our agreement. But I can’t help it. You’re weird, and hot like burning, and every time I see you I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest.”

Stiles half-heartedly punches him in the sternum and Derek catches his wrist. “You can’t just say shit like that,” Stiles says weakly. “I cried over you dude, in the car ride here.”

Derek’s all up in his space now, having used Stiles’ wrist to tug him so they’re chest to chest, and his nose is nuzzling Stiles’, and his breath his hot against Stiles’ lips as he speaks. “Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles laughs. “Fine. Whatever you want, Derek.”

Derek puts a little bit of distance between them, but only so he can cup Stiles’ chin and pull his gaze up so their eyes lock. “I want you. That’s what I want. I want you to be my boyfriend. I want you to smell like me every day, and I want to know that I can come home to you whenever I get the chance, and…and I want to look at the future and see you there. You’re the first person since my ex that hasn’t made me feel terrified.”

Stiles’ heart is in his throat—he’s pretty sure literally, but that’s okay because his boyfriend is a doctor. “I’m…yeah. I’m okay with all that.”

Derek’s lips curl up into a smile, and he looks a little bit like the guy he first met in the bar—kind of shy and fucking hot, and so sweet, except there’s a fondness in his kaleidoscope eyes that wasn’t there before—and it’s all for Stiles. “Good. So we’re okay?”

“It’s going to take me a few days,” Stiles admits. “Because I…shit. That was a lot.” He steps in closer and is rewarded by Derek winding both arms around his waist and holding him so close, so tight. “I don’t think I’ve ever had my heart shattered and then put back together that fast before.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek breathes. “You took me by surprise, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Stiles shakes his head. “We’re both dumbasses.”

Derek laughs. “Yeah.” Then he kisses him, and it’s probably the best kiss of his life. Their lips melt together in ways they both love because they know this now, they’re basically experts at each other’s bodies. Derek knows the path to Stiles’ bedroom and doesn’t need to look as he backs him up without taking his mouth away.

Hands are a little frantic, and Derek’s claws come out to rip at them and Stiles thinks he should be offended, but at this point he doesn’t give a shit if he never gets dressed again as long as he’s got this. Derek’s mouth kissing a hot line across his shoulders, down his chest, tongue toying with a nipple as now-blunt fingers curl around his dick and stroke him exactly the way he likes it.

“Fuck me,” Stiles says.

“Okay,” Derek replies. “But me next?”

Stiles laughs at the absurdity of this situation, and how he’s a little bit terrified because things never work out and he’s wanted this so much. But he decides it’s not worth it to wallow in the fear. He’ll just take it for as long as he’s allowed to have it. And hell, it might be forever, because stranger things have happened.

All thoughts leave him pretty soon after that, because Derek’s first fucking him with his dildo to get him really stretched, then he’s got Stiles up on his knees with his back to Derek’s chest, and he’s thrusting inside of him at the perfect angle that makes Stiles’ head fall back. Derek lowers his mouth and _bites_ into Stiles’ neck, hard enough to leave a mark, but not to break skin.

It’s perfect. God, it’s perfect.

Derek’s hand strokes him in time with the thrusts, and his whole body just _lights up_ when he comes.

Derek’s shortly after, and they collapse together, not even bothering with the clean up which Stiles knows he’ll regret later, but for now he needs to bask. He’s goddamn earned some basking.

They drift off, and Stiles doesn’t wake until morning.

Rolling over, he sees Derek’s eyes half-lidded and soft as they watch him rise to wakefulness. “Creeper.”

“You love it,” Derek says, reaching out to trace a line from Stiles’ temple to his chin.

Stiles flushes, but he can’t exactly deny it after all that last night. “Guess I do.” He doesn’t feel the overwhelming need to throw himself at Derek now, mostly because he realizes that it isn’t necessary. Before, there was always the threat that that one time would be the last time, and he’d never get this again. Now Derek is his boyfriend. Derek is in love with him and wants all the gross, fluffy, love shit that comes with relationships.

Derek seems to feel the same way, because where there would be slightly frantic morning sex, there’s just the gentle brush of hands down his spine, and the easy way Derek just kind of mouths at his shoulder. “Go to my sister’s wedding with me.”

Stiles starts, then pulls back to look at him. “Seriously? Meeting the parents already? We haven’t even been on a real date yet.”

“It’s not for six months,” Derek says easily, kissing Stiles on the corner of his mouth. “We have plenty of time for dates between now and then.”

Stiles lets himself feel the thrill up his spine that Derek’s thinking they’ll be together in six months. He seriously, seriously means all this boyfriend stuff. “I…guess I can see if my schedule is free,” Stiles says with a hum.

Derek rolls his eyes, then kisses him long, and filthy, and slow. “Wanna go get breakfast?”

“You’re paying,” Stiles says as he pushes himself up to sit. “You’re a doctor, so you’re richer than I am. Also whoever asks pays. That’s how dating works. Just in case you forgot you know…since it’s been so long for you.”

Derek bites him playfully and then shoves him off the bed, laughing when Stiles lands flat on his ass. “I guess I asked for this.”

Stiles grins, bright like the sun. “Yeah. Yeah you did. But that’s okay, because so did I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! I'd apologize for the gross fluff at the end, but I'm not actually sorry. Total self-indulgent nonsense. I want to give a huuuuge thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos. You made my entire month! <3 I'm sure I'll be back with more. Even if the show was a let-down in the end, Sterek will always be here for me.


End file.
